I’m not sure how many songs passed, maybe two, before I was completely engrossed. They were a little old and lazy, yes, but these songs are good
No one can understand the words, and no one minds at all.
Thomas Livingston’s inner monologues are poetic, existential, almost Shakespearean; full of flower petals. But then his day-to-day dialogues with his wife, and with his friends, are just so cold and gray.